Chapter IV: Terrorist activity

Disclaimer: Not mine and I make no profit

Sears trudged back into their stationary camp after the diversionary battle with the Shin-Ra squad just before the sun set. His group was victorious, but tired, in need of potions and bandages and concerned about their twin group and the strike force, Elfé, Barrett and Vincent Valentine. The pale ex-Turk going with Elfé unnerved him and now that his own mission was completed he felt the tension that much keener. Of course he knew that despite her modest, mild-mannered appearance Elfé didn't need no help, would have probably ended up saving him if things had gone badly, but he couldn't help himself. The man was just creepy, a potential plant even and he didn't know how Verhandi and the kid weren't creeped out by him. Shiva forbid, did he ever take that talon-glove-thing out? Even in bed?

The camp was an abandoned house in the Midgar Sector 3 slum, a true wretch of a building with all windows broken into dirty jagged shards that circled the opening like monster fangs would a jaw, the roof leaking from the pipes above the house and the walls cluttered with angry red graffiti. They had promptly set up their tents and air beds inside and used Bunsen burners to cook and heat water since the building was only good for hiding them from curious eyes. His tent was in a room that probably used to be a kitchen though the stove was obviously stolen and Sears wondered if there ever had been fridge in the first place.

"I'm sure everyone's okay, not like we had to play hero," Donald said to him, seeing the tight look on the group leader's face. There was much comfort in working with a person you had known so long you just fit together without an effort.

"Yeah, Elfé's the one with the dangerous job and she's a damn force of nature," Donna added helpfully, rubbing her wrist gingerly and ever-infatuated Hákon trodded behind her so frustrated by his lack of potions his face twitched in amusing ways. Luckily her wrist wasn't swollen so it wasn't sprained either, but it was red and tender-looking.

"I know. I just want to make sure before I'm gonna get my potion." Sears smiled, but it was wan. His boots thudded heavily on the cobblestones. Then he saw a flash of light from the house, the living, red light of fire, throwing everything into stark relief for a moment. He quickened his pace; he was nearly there.

"Sears!" Ulises called from the doorway. He had band aids around every finger in his right hand and his brown curls, which he usually kept groomed to the point of being dandyish, were a sweaty mess, but then again Sears was sure he had seen better days too, his stubble grown out and his once green shirt now an odd shade of gray. Ulises ushered him inside, handing him a steaming mug of thick soup. It tasted bland, but was heavenly hot.

"Thanks, Ulises. Is everyone okay?" Sears looked around the room. Pœga, who shared the dark green military issue tent with him, had already returned and was sitting on his heels, wiping his brow with his red bandanna, his mouth a thin, fierce line. Ciddi was at his makeshift worktable, capable hands oiling his gun on automaton. He was from a Fabalesian village Sears couldn't remember the name of and his posture hadn't relaxed since his old home had made the headlines.

"How about Donald and Donna and Hákon?" It wasn't an answer.

"We are all okay. I just wanted to check on things after the battle." Sears' gaze swept the room once more. Maybe they were sleeping the potions off in their tents, but his throat felt tight.

"Where are Harper and Leon C?" He hated this, truly hated.

"They are…" Pœga clasped his hands angrily together. "General Sephiroth showed up during the battle." He would have never admitted to it, but Sears had nightmares of silver hair and a blade ridiculously long at times. He had a feeling that so did everyone else, except maybe Fuhito, who was harder to upset that your average rock.

"What?" His mouth fell open, and he nearly dropped his soup mug. "What was he doing there?"

The whole thing, it turned out, had been sheer bad luck. Reeve Tuesti, the designer of the Mako reactors in Midgar, had been called to consult the maintenance crew in Sector 5 reactor because of some glitch, but the Demon General had had some use for Tuesti too, and no patience. Harper and Leon C had barely had enough time to call a warning before they had been cut down, literally. What was left of diversion group two had fled immediately.

"That Soldier cunt," Pœga swore with wet eyes. They had all been from Sears' old bandit gang from time before Avalanche. He felt exactly the same.

"We will have revenge," He said with dark satisfaction, "we all know where Elfé's group is and doing what." If they were lucky the Bastard General had already returned to report the successful thwarting of terrorist activity.

Diversion group one had created a diversion in the reactor of Sector 1 for diversion group two, which had pretended to be the main strike force. Their true objective had been to thoroughly draw any and all attention away from the Shin-Ra's front yard.

Much of Vincent's tactical knowledge of Shin-Ra organization was outdated, but the Deepground still existed and he had once been high enough in the Turk food chain to be let into that particular secret. Today Deepground was known to be connected to now deceased Genesis Rhapsodos, though even Vincent hadn't heard many details. Deepground had become an experimentation ground because of his evolution, and that all the Tsviets, an elite group of soldiers, had been spliced with his genes. The Tsviets were apparently quite dangerous, maybe not as dangerous as Sephiroth, but attacking their base head-on with only force of three would have been a suicide by Soldier. However, there were other ways to make their displeasure about the Fabales situation known. After this Shin-Ra wouldn't remember Fabales for months. It would be the witch hunt of all times. They knew it and they were ready to take the risk.

His risk wasn't for Fabales, though he wasn't completely indifferent. Vincent only wanted whatever retribution he could wring while waiting for a chance to meet professor Hojo one last time. The daydream dyed his vision red and black like Chaos.

Cosmo Canyon was more than just any little town, it was an old-fashioned nature-loving community, made up of close-knit people most of whom lived there their whole life and their family had lived on the area for generations, but still eager to accept newcomers and convert them to their easy-going way of life. It was like a hippy fluffy-kitty version of Nibelheim. Until now she had had very much free time and every day she could, shortly after the dinner and before the sun was to descend and paint the clouds golden and red and earthly okra, Verhandi would go to the market for fresh fruits. For all that cooking and baking was said to be chemistry applied in kitchen she didn't enjoy it a bit, but she made up for the lack of homely cookies, pies and other pastries with sticky, delicious caramel apples and mountains of sugared oranges and grapefruits. Cloud knew that his mother considered the place a healthy environment and good influence on him. Some of the things his-to-be faction got up to not so much, but she dealt.

"No, I will not give you the treatment before you are sixteen," she told him the umpteenth time. By now Cloud had realized that there was no changing her mind, but he still didn't understand why her reason was supposed to be a good one.

"Why not? It's not like I'm going to go for missions anytime soon, but this way I would be ready and enhanced by the time I turned sixteen," he defended his case. Mother's mouth did that thing, the same it had done when she had ran for the gun in the drawer in their old home when the Turks had come, cool and uncaring in their blue suits, and he sighed. If he hadn't known it was a lost case before he would have now.

"Because you are not of age to make such a major decision that will influence your entire life. Mako in your system is a serious thing, mister, because once it's been infused there is no way to get it out." Mother just didn't get it. He wasn't afraid, hadn't been after that night in Nibelheim when their new houseguest had killed the Turks sent to kill him, he felt a tinge of unease in his stomach when he remembered the red blood that had clotted to black before they could get to leave, but he ignored it.

The argument had ended with mother telling him to make use of his childhood as long as he had it, but she hadn't said with whom and so Cloud went to the birdhouse to sulk. Mrs Willowgreen's blackbirds were all silent and sleepy, but the small, black creatures on their roosts in the middle of bonsai trees that bloomed white and purple were still very nice and the retired postwoman, Avalanche's closest neighbour, had told him he was always welcome. He had meant to practice with the new lock, but felt oddly lazy. It was a warm day with a distant promise of gentle rain.

He was merely sitting against the wall doing nothing when he heard singing. The small rhyme, repeated over and over, drew him to the window. Outside were four girls playing something that involved hopping around on one leg, from sector to sector drawn to the dirt. Children usually moved unlike adults. Cloud suspected that he was an exception to this rule to some extent, but the girls were so open and much, without any self-cencorship.

"One for sorrow, two for joy," the children were singing. They were all girls, but maybe they would let him play with them a little. One of them had a braid tied with pink ribbons and that made him feel warm for no reason at all. They all were having fun and he was all too used to watching that from the outside. In Nibelheim he hadn't had any real friends and after that he hadn't had time to get any, or he hadn't wanted to make one just to leave them again. But they were going to stay in this beautiful place and he guessed adults weren't the same thing.

"Three for a girl, four for a boy, five for humankind, six for the Cetra of old," the girls sang and Cloud went looking for his shoes. This time wouldn't have to lie, either, which was good because he was a lousy liar when he didn't have the time to prepare a story; improvisation wasn't his best trait when dealing with words. In Cosmo Canyon Avalanche was inevitably a public secret; everybody knew or at least guessed, but they weren't talking. In Cosmo Canyon Shin-Ra was very much an entity non-grata and the freedom fighters secretly respected. Cloud could barely wait to turn sixteen and be allowed into actual operations, that would be so cool and he would get to help his father too. Cloud had already committed himself to getting Hojo's head on the proverbial silver platter with the proverbial apple in his mouth, but there was nothing to do about his age except wait it out. The children were still singing when he went outside, their voices rang like bells.

"Seven for secrets of state never to be told."

Sephiroth was frustrated with the battle; it had ended practically before it even begun, leaving him full of adrenalin and unnerved, because in Wutai something that looked too easy to be true usually was and no matter how much he tried to convince his instincts that this was the heart of the Shin-Ra corporal empire and his opponents merely violent discontents with little skill or finesse he was tense and vigil. Zack Fair, his irreverent and rather refreshing aide, didn't seem concerned. He was in fact fairly vibrating with excess energy, the brief run-in with Avalanche grunts leaving him in high spirits even though he hadn't even got to fight. And he was complaining about that, but Sephiroth still had a feeling that the younger man was however content that the terrorists had understood when they were beaten and he could approve the principle if not the people who had applied it. The world could bee run much easily if more people, in higher places, showed even little common sense.

Logic was the study of the principles of valid demonstration and inference. Deductive logic was reasoning which used deductive arguments to move from given statements to conclusions, which must be true if the premises were true. It wasn't that hard to do, really.

"Man, makes me almost hope we bump into some monster en route to the stationary camp next week," the man complained to Sephiroth's neutral, military grey wall, for once ignoring why they would go there. He looked very much out of place in his well-ordered office, a blur of restless movement and tannned skin.

"That is an unlikely event," he stated the obvious. Maybe it was reflex made Zack whirl around to face an unexpected voice, but it was just him that made him smile at it; being grinned at like he had just fulfilled somebody's highest expectations by basically just standing there and breathing used to take Sephiroth aback, but now he was resigned to the enthusiasm, barely arching a brow over Zack's antics. Zack's grin flashed white, friendly, but full of teeth and it was times like these when Sephiroth worried about himself. It was such an animal response to a perfectly acceptable and even desirable social gesture.

"What do you think, if a pirate and a ninja fought who would win?" Zack asked. Sephiroth had no idea what he was supposed to say to that and he had a feeling that this time it wasn't just because he had been raised by people who considered human interaction science. He decided that maybe taking the black-haired man's question at face value would be the best answer and thought about it. Wutaiian ninjas were painstakingly trained in the practice of guerrilla warfare, assassinations and undercover espionage operations. Pirates tended to be an undisciplined lot, as refined a club compared to the dagger that were ninjas. He had fought against many of them and respected them quite a lot as he killed them, freed them from the wet, fiery, green hell that was jungle warfare.

"The ninja, definitely. Though I don't pretend to understand the way your mind works, coming up with these questions. What is their purpose?" It frustrated him till no end when he couldn't understand the motives of people around him. Of course the spiky-haired man completely ignored his question. He was gesturing with his hands as he talked, like the topic he was conversing was too large to interpret with only words. Oh the irony, considering what the topic was.

"We fought against those airship pirates in Rocket Town, remember. They were tough cookies," Zack explained voice full of satisfaction. The day was dim and damp behind the window, but he fairly glowed all the same.

"How would you know whether pirates are harder to kill or not if you have never fought a ninja?" Sephiroth asked. He knew very well who and what his aide had pitted himself against and he couldn't believe he was arguing about this; conversations with Zack tended to get well and truly out of his control.

"Does Maarit Monrepos count?" Zack asked thoughtfully. He thumped the heels of his boots against the side of the house and leaned against the windowsill. His grin was very much lopsided.

"She was an assassin so that's kinda like ninja, but her electro-mag rod was pink. With rhinestones. Does overwhelming cuteness cancel ninjutsu?" There had been no ninjutsu involved, but that obviously wasn't what Zack had asked. Sephiroth was going to answer with negative when an explosion shook the floor under them and the lights went out.